Navy Boys Behind the Big Guns eBook

One of his mates fell back from position. It
was not Torry, as Whistler immediately saw. The
man’s shoulder dripped blood from a raking wound.
Had it been Torry, Phil knew he would still have stepped
forward, just as he was doing, and have calmly taken
the place of the wounded man.

“Keep it up, boys!” grinned the wounded
one. “I’ll be back soon’s the
doc gives this the once over.”

The work went on. Shell, powder, breech!
Ready all! A moment while the captain’s
finger trembled on the trigger button. Then the
hiss of air as the breech swung open, yawning for
another charge.

The thousand-pound shell, hurtling through the smoke-filled
air, found the vitals of the Kennebunk’s
immediate enemy. It scarcely shocked Whistler
when he peered out to see that vast mountain of steel
burst open amidships. She sank in seconds, and
the Kennebunk steamed on to attack a second
monster of the deep.

The battle continued. Moments seemed longer than
minutes; minutes dragged by like hours. The wonder
of it all was that so much damage could be done in
so short a time.

Ships that had cost months of labor to build settled
and disappeared beneath the surface in a few minutes.
And their crews? Best not talk about them.

History will relate in detail and with exactness,
the story of this fight. The superdreadnaught,
so shortly off the ways, endured her baptism of fire,
coming through the battle scarred but victorious.
Alone she sank two of the enemy.

Her own casualty list was small. But it was some
hours after the battle before Philip Morgan made sure
that his three friends were safe. Repairs and
other necessary work took up the attention of the crew
until long past nightfall, although the battle itself
had lasted just under two hours.

Then Phil found Al first, for they had fought in the
same turret. They went to look for the younger
boys, and came across an agile little chap with his
head done up in bandages, working with a deck-washing
crew aft of Turret Number Three, which had been wrecked
by a Hun shell.

“It’s Ikey!” shouted Torry.
“What’s the matter with your head, Ikey?”

“Don’t say a word,” said Ikey, shaking
his bandaged head. “The doc used all the
gauze he had left aboard after binding those up that
was really hurt.”

“Oi, oi! I ought to have, eh? But
it’s only that boil I had coming on the back
of my neck. You remember? Somehow the head
got knocked off of it and it was bleeding. So
the doc grabbed me and bandaged me like this,”
he added in a much disgusted tone.

It was Michael Donahue who proudly showed himself
later with his arm in a sling. He had actually
got a piece of shell through the flesh below his elbow.
The others were inclined to scorn his wound as they
did Ikey’s boil.